


without you

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, a wee bit of angst, ah there's the fluff, but definitely smut, college age, essentially, obviously an au of some sort, some sweetbee for ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: Life was not a fairytale.She didn't expect grand gestures or a knight in shining armor. And as much as she liked to akin her mother to a witch, she wasn't.But for him to show up at her door after so long, well, it stole her breath all the same. He always did like to call her princess.





	without you

 

His sweatshirt smelled like home.

The faintest hint of soap and the scent that clung to his skin, an herbal spice that had her lips parting, aching for a taste of more.

It was soft — cozy, swallowing her hands and hanging off the slope of her shoulder. The ends of her hair just barely brushed the neckline. She could imagine him pulling the strands between his thumb and forefinger, tugging to garner her attention like he always did.

She would give it to him.

There wasn't a doubt in Betty's mind that she was was in love with Sweet Pea.

Of course, she hadn't expected it. Hadn't factored it into her meticulous planning — finish high school with a 4.2 GPA, graduate summa cum laude at Purdue University, and finally, get headhunted by multiple agencies until she ultimately decided which of them to start her career with.

Falling in love was supposed to come later. And all of it was supposed to be long and far, far away from her mother.

Junior year had thrown a wrench into her plans, when she met him.

They were a maelstrom — colliding at every turn with gritted teeth and clenched fists. Fire burned in both their veins, bubbling between them until it spilled up and over. The taste of his lips on hers, shocking, only made her burn brighter.

_These violent delights have violent ends._

Shakespeare haunted her without mercy, the line ringing in her ears each time she thought of Sweet Pea's dimpled smile. The one that had his eyes growing soft, face relaxed beneath the brush of her fingers along his temple and jaw.

The satire of _Romeo and Juliet_ sent her bristling, scoffing.

Betty was anything but a statistic, refused to believe in ill-drawn fate. There was a reason their ire was compatible, commonalities they shared — the fear of being alone, despite clinging so hard to ideals, and the high expectations they put on people. They complemented each other in all the ways they clashed.

The look on his face when she got her acceptance letter from the admissions office — he was so proud. And he told her as much. But she didn't miss the way his jaw clenched tight, the way his words cracked at the end.

His future had already been decided, much like her own. The tattoo on the side of his neck branded him to the small-town gang, and there was no taking it back. Her words, pleas, having little effect over a decision she wasn't a part of.

There was no option for Sweet Pea to follow her.

This was not a fairytale.

She feared when the scent on the fabric would disappear, when she would lose the last of him beyond her memories.

When she went home for the summer, would she see him? Did she _want_ to?

Would he have someone else on the back of his bike, their arms wrapped tightly around him? Would they breathe him in, get lost in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled?

Irrational thoughts flashed through her like the shutter of a camera, head tucking into the collar of the shirt, breathing in as a sob caught in her chest.

Maybe she shouldn't go home. Not when she was still learning how to live without him. She didn't want to rip her heart further apart, wasn't even sure how to begin to heal what was left.

There were a thousand lives to live, paths to take, and she couldn't help but wonder _why this one_?

In another life, Betty wondered what would have happened if she stayed and went to Brookdale College, close enough that she could drive home every weekend. Spent her nights in his bed, wearing every one of his shirts until she got to the bottom of the drawer. Woke up with her legs between his, ear pressed to his chest to feel the rhythmic beat of his heart.

She wondered if he thought of her at all, if she had been as important to him as he was to her.

His name was one click away in her phone, a text or phone call as easy as one, two, three. It hurt to think about him not responding, was the reason why she could never do it. Countless nights had gone by as she stared up at her ceiling, wondering what he was doing, if he was safe, missing his nightly check-ins, and being able to fall asleep without worry.

It was stupid.

She felt stupid because nothing was going to change. Thoughts were useless without actions.

Picking herself up, Betty climbed out of the porcelain tub where she always found herself deep in thought, cheek pressed to cold edge. The knock at her door and the rumble of her stomach was enough of a distraction that she might be free of her thoughts on a Friday night for once.

Pizza, besides wallowing, was the one thing that was consistent about her end of the week ritual.

Grabbing a couple of dollars for a tip from her wallet, she hooked her purse on the peg near the door before pulling it open.

She stared at the not-pizza-delivery.

“—Betty?”

His voice shocked her and she gripped the bills tightly in her fist, brows furrowing. “What are you… you're… what?” she blinked foolishly, suddenly unsure of whether she was starving or about to be sick. Surprise and anxiety were always too closely related for her pleasure.

Sweet Pea glanced over his shoulder down the hallway before clearing his throat and looking back at her. “Uh, hi. Can I, maybe, come in?”

She stepped aside, almost tripping over numb feet.

The door clicked closed behind him, and he let the black duffel slip from his shoulder to the linoleum in her kitchen.

Tearing her eyes away from it, she looked up at him, realizing that she was wearing his sweatshirt and little else, just a thin pair of cotton shorts.

“You're in my kitchen.” Her lips drew into a thin line, bordering on a frown as her heart began to beat wildly.

He breathed a laugh, tearing his eyes away from her legs, and ruffled the hair at the back of his neck. “Yeah, seems so.”

“Why?”

“Straight to the point I guess…”

Betty huffed, “We haven't spoken in eight months.”

His eyebrows raised, before mirroring her own. “Communication is a two-way street, you know.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

A sigh, then — “I miss you.”

There was a mess of things that struck her all at once and she had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting them all out.

The fact that he was wearing a white t-shirt under his leather jacket with her favorite pair of jeans, and he smelled a thousand times stronger than what lingered on her shirt, was distracting in and of itself.

But most of all, she _didn't understand_.

There was copper on her tongue as she drew in enough breath to speak. “You never even said goodbye to me, how could you _miss_ me?”

His eyes closed, brows pinched together between his thumb. Sighing, he took a step closer.

She took a step back.

He threw her a look that said _‘really_?’ and she folded her arms over her chest, crumpling the dollars in her grasp, appetite just as forgotten.

“It was never _goodbye_ for me. Isn't ever going to be.” He took another step forward, and she was rooted to the spot under the intensity of his gaze. “I never stopped wanting you, Betty. I'm in love with you, another thing I can't fucking change.”

Her lips pressed together, _wondering wondering wondering_ — “Why are you telling me this _now_?” she asked, gesturing to her apartment. “How do you know I haven't moved on? It's been _eight months_.”

She was lucky she didn't choke on the words as she felt her eyes well with tears she didn't want to spill.

His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “I'm not expecting anything. I fucked up by not fighting for you. For letting you leave thinking that I didn't care.”

Her lips parted with a tremble, hands clenching tight around her biceps so that they wouldn't shake. No matter how much she wanted, dreamt, of those words from his lips, it didn't ease the pain. Only seemed to twist the wire hot poker in her stomach.

“I left… before it hurt too much. Probably a good thing, because I'm not sure I would have, had I known it felt like this.”

He frowned then, looking her over and Betty wished she had brushed her hair at all in the last two days.

“I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

“We hurt each other,” she amended. “I'm sorry, too.”

They stared at each other, silence swelling between them in a way that had her stomach reeling. She felt like a stranger to her own body, skin buzzing and lips forming words she had little control over.

“I haven't,” she said abruptly, clearing her throat. “Haven't… moved on.”

Sweet Pea's spine straightened, height towering over her as he took another step closer. “Yeah? And why's that?”

A knock against the door had her jumping, heart leaping into her throat. She spun on her heel, stepping forward to open the door. She held out the crumpled dollars for the pizza delivery she had been expecting in the first place.

She fumbled with the receipt and pen, nearly dropping them before thrusting both into the teen's hands in exchange for the box. She turned, using her foot to shut the door behind her again.

“Um.” She moved to set the box on the table to their left. “Are you hungry?” Pulling her lip between her teeth, she fiddled with the lid of the box.

“You're avoiding my question.”

“You know the answer,” she quipped, side-stepping him to open an overhead cabinet in the tiny galley kitchen, reaching for two plates.

Betty had barely set them on the counter before his hands caged her in, gripping the counter on either side of her. He stepped close, until she could just feel the brush of his shirt against the sweatshirt at her back.

“You ordered a Hawaiian pizza.”

“Yes.”

“You don't _like_ pineapple on your pizza.”

Her blue fingernail scratched against the plate, across a large flower decorating the melamine in the same light color. “And?”

“It's my favorite,” he said a little softer, his breath against her bare shoulder as he ducked his head in close. “Missing me that much?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice and as much as she wanted to be irritated, wanted to turn around and shove his face away with a roll of her eyes and deny it, she couldn't. Couldn't answer the question at all — but her silence was all he needed.

“Wearing my sweatshirt...” His breath caressed her neck, ruffling the ends of her hair. “Eating my favorite pizza...” A hand raised to wrap around a few of the strands and tug her head to the side, lips hovering just above the line of her throat. “Sounds like a rocking Friday night.”

Her own breath came out slow, skin alight with heat and waiting, waiting for him to touch her. “Yep,” she popped the ‘p,’ sounding a little squeakier than she would have liked.

“Better let you get to it then, know you get angry when you're hungry.” Leaning back, he unwound his fingers from her hair.

“Don't — don't—” she couldn't say the word _leave_ , it felt like it was stuck in her throat. Whether he meant it like that or just them, her, _eating_ — whatever.

Betty grabbed hold of his hand against the counter, curling her fingers around his to keep him there. The smell of his familiar soap just under her nose as he brought himself back in was too good not to savor. He nudged in closer than before, enough that she could feel the press his hips and chest against her shoulder blades.

“I'm not.” His free hand fit against her waist, finding the curve under the loose sweatshirt with practiced ease. He squeezed, pulling just enough to mold her back to him.

Her eyes shut tightly, reveling in the warmth and comfort that his presence brought. It was easy, to fall back into this, like they'd never been apart.

It was too much, too much all at once and exactly she wanted.

She cleared her throat, “Good. Let's eat then,” and turned on her heel, forcing a plate against his stomach, pushing it into him and letting go of his hand. She slipped from the space between him and the counter over to the pizza, displayed on the table in all it's grilled pineapple glory.

“Right.”

“You want a soda?” she asked, gesturing to the fridge while placing a couple of slices on her plate.

 _Remember to breathe,_  she reminded herself and slowly released a breath out as she heard the door open.

When he stepped up next to her, she tilted her head, giving him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Sweet Pea was a little stiff, it was evident in the way his shoulders stretched tight under the leather. “And take your jacket off. We'll watch something while we eat?”

Sitting beside him on her couch seemed a much more reasonable choice than directly across the table, where his gaze on her would feel either suffocating or intoxicating — maybe both.

“Yeah, you know we could maybe watch _Twin Peaks_? Always said we were going to. Unless,” he fiddled with his plate, filling it up, “—unless you already have.”

“Oh,” she blinked, before smiling more genuinely. “No, no — I haven't.”

He seemed to relax a little at that, nodding his head a little. “Good, that's… that's good. Let's go for that then.”

It was infinitely better than what she originally planned to do, she'd give it that.

So, with her toes tucked up under Sweet Pea's thigh, they regained some semblance of normal, albeit quiet, comfort.

It wasn't until they finished most of the pizza, the entire tub of strawberry ice-cream in the freezer, and were half-way through the first season, that the conversation crossed back to the heart of why he was there.

“You know, a town with darkness sounds really familiar,” Sweet Pea said idly, looking over at her as he leaned his head back against the couch. His feet were up on the coffee table, black combat boots firmly crossed at the ankles.

“Vaguely,” she shrugged, trying not to draw parallels to their own small-town murder. It was hard enough that Jason Blossom had been murdered, excluding that he was her _cousin_ , and that his father was the killer. It was just something she preferred _not_ to think about.

“It's getting late.”

Betty glanced at the clock, a quarter after one. “You can stay here. Tonight.”

“Oh, that's — I got a hotel room, actually.”

“Oh,” she echoed, before feeling disappointment swirl in her belly. “It's — it's like, really late though? Maybe you should just… stay here.”

He turned toward her, fingers tapping at his thigh restlessly. “You sure?” he asked gingerly, raising an eyebrow. “It just seems like you're having a hard time with me being here.”

“Am I?” she reeled back a bit, withdrawing her legs to pull them close to her body. “I mean, you could have called or even sent me a text. Given me a little warning.”

“And you would have answered? You would have been here when I knocked on your door?”

It wasn't subtle, what he was suggesting.

Bringing her hands up, she smoothed her palms back against her scalp before letting out a half-sigh of exasperated breath. “I don't know.”

“But I _am_ here. And you let me in.”

“Yes,” Betty blinked up at him before reaching a hand out to circle around his forearm. “And I'm glad you are. Really. It's like a weight has been lifted off my chest, knowing you're — you're safe. You look good.”

He threw her a look that had her straightening upright.

“The Serpents have new leadership, you know? Things aren't the same.”

“What? Really?” she pulled her lip between her teeth, squeezing his arm just a little tighter. “That's good. Great. Is that… why you came?”

Sweet Pea shook his head, moving his arm from her grasp to stretch it along the length of the couch behind them. He picked at the fabric, loose threads fraying a little more.

“I came here for you, Betty. I was just tired of waiting. Of not knowing. I had to try. For once in my life — I had to try for what I really wanted.”

“Wanted?” she asked quietly, the sound of her heartbeat drowning out the voices on the forgotten TV.

“ _Want_.”

Giving a little nod, she looked away from him, from the way he was looking at her like she was his whole world. And she had walked away.

“Let's go to bed.” As she stood up from the couch, she drew his quizzical stare.  She fidgeted with her hands for a moment before waving one at him to take. “To _sleep_.”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his nose and mouth before leaning over to pull at the laces on his boots. Taking hold of her hand, he stood, kicking the boots from his feet and out of the way.

“You are the most confusing woman I've ever met.”

Pulling him along, she flicked the light switch to the bedroom on with a smirk. “I think you knew that from the start.”

“Well, certainly when I almost killed you with that chemistry experiment and we argued until you _attacked_ me.” After a beat he added — “With your _lips_.”

Her eyes rolled, and she was glad she was already dressed for bed — hadn't ever gotten dressed for the day to begin with.

“You liked it,” she tutted, dropping his hand and gesturing to the bed with a flick of her wrist. “I'm just going to brush my teeth.”

Walking away, she pulled her hand to her chest, his touch still lingering on her skin. It made her ache in all the ways she had repressed, shoved down, buried deep. She wondered if she was ready to bring that flood of feelings to the surface when she had spent so long trying to box them away.

There had always been a scenario in her mind where he chased her, but ideally it would have happened months ago. Now, she was starving for his touch. Craved the warmth that he brought out in her. She wanted to burn with him.

After using the bathroom and brushing both her teeth and hair, she stared at the girl in the mirror, wondering what he saw in her. Messy hair, bruises of exhaustion under her eyes. She wondered if they were new or if she had simply reached a new level of tired.

Shuffling around, she pulled off the lace bralette from underneath the sweatshirt to drop in her hamper. Stalling, she splashed water on her face, and then after a glance down at the sink, uncapped the tube of chapstick staring up at her.

At least she looked sort of human, now.

When she opened the door, he was sitting on the edge of her bed in his shirt and boxers, toes bare against the carpet and spinning the ring in his middle finger around and around.

He stood when she stepped forward, plucking up a toiletry bag from beside him on the bed He tipped his head at her, and they shuffled around each other until the door clicked shut behind him.

Betty turned the covers down before slipping between the sheets and turning onto her side. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, pulled the sleeve of the sweater up over it, and still shivered involuntarily. Counting the minutes that passed in her head, she tried to control her breathing so that her chest wasn't heaving.

She wasn't sure when her eyes closed, only that she opened them when the weight shifted on the bed and he lay beside her. The sound of his shuffling to get comfortable filled the room, until the silence overtook them. Every beat of her heart felt loud in her ears, breath harsh. Knowing he was lying just beside her, so close, was enough to have her nerve endings buzzing.

“Could you,” she turned her face into her pillow a little, hands clenching at the sheets. “—put your arm around me?”

“Yeah. Yeah — thought you'd never ask.”

“I'm full of surprises,” she found herself saying with a yawn, melting back into him with familiar ease as his arm curved over her hip and he tucked up behind her, close but not overbearing.

It soothed her mile-a-minute thoughts, allowing her to take a steady breath in. The terrifying thought of how _right_ it felt should have been a nightmare, but instead she found herself falling into comfort, into sound sleep.

His lips pressed against the back of her head, a murmured goodnight barely registering in her rapidly fading consciousness.

 

**** 

 

Her bed would smell of him for days to come.

Not that Betty really minded, of course. She had been wearing his sweatshirt because it smelled of him, after all.

Part of her thought she would wake up to find it all had been a cruel dream or that Sweet Pea had been the one to leave this time, exacting revenge.

But he was still very much there, body curled around her completely. Thighs backing her own, legs and feet intertwined in a delight of skin to skin contact, arm laying heavy across her waist with his fingers tucked underneath her side.

A part of her couldn’t help but wonder about how she would feel when he _did_ leave. Whether the empty space of her bed would feel lonely, when she had finally learned to stretch out in the sheets.

They hadn't discussed what came after. After this visit, after she fell madly in love with him all over again just with the way he said her name, his fingers brushing hair behind her ear.

She only wanted to think of the now, and enjoy it while it lasted. The last few years had been hard, nearing on unbearable at times, but she got through it as miserable as it was, so she felt like she deserved a little slice of happiness, despite the cost.

Letting out a breath of air, she opened her eyes to find light peaking through the opening in her curtains. Glancing up at the clock on her nightstand told her it was just after nine, and she blinked the sleep from her eyes blearily. She couldn't help but arch her back, trying her best to stretch her limbs without actually moving them out of place.

Sweet Pea's breath fanned the back of her neck, where his head was nestled in, nose in her hair. His arm tightened around her, pulling her into him with a squeeze.

Her eyes rolled and she reached up to run her fingers along the length of his forearm with deliberate slowness. “Are you awake?”

“Not yet,” came his groggy reply.

“Oh, I hadn't realized you could talk to me in your sleep. That's very impressive.”

“Shhhhh.”

She groaned, fingers catching on his wrist and playing with the ring on his finger. “I want breakfast.”

“So go get some.”

“You're stuck to my back.”

“‘m not.” He held her tighter, lips against the back of her neck barely hiding a grin.

“Wake up,” Betty drawled lazily, pulling his hand up against her abdomen, just beneath the sweatshirt. Touching her bare skin, his palm flattened against her, sliding just a little higher, enough to hitch her breath.

The hot feeling of him against her skin dialed up a couple notches.

“Okay, there's definitely a part of me that's awake now.”

His hips rolled into her, and she could feel him with more purpose, half-hard at the curve of her bottom.

“Sweet Pea,” she huffed, lip between her teeth as she fought the urge to shift back against him.

All at once, his presence at her back was gone, hand turning her flat on her back so quickly that it took her breath away. He was looming over her, knees planted on either side of her hips, covers all twisted around their legs.

His hair was bedraggled, eyes wide and dark and _very_ much awake as he drank in her flushed cheeks and neck.

“Wh—what?”

“That's the first time you've said my name since I've been here.”

She blinked up at him, words stuck in her throat as his hands cupped her jaw to tilt her face up as he leaned in. His nose brushed against hers, lips just above her own making it hard to think, to pinpoint where he was wrong.

Except he wasn't.

“Say it again.” His voice had turned low and husky, the words anything but a question.

Licking her lower lip, tongue barely flicking out against his mouth, her eyes fluttered in their close proximity. It was a struggle to focus on anything other than him working a knee between her legs, both hands sliding down her neck to tug at the collar of the sweatshirt.

“ _Sweet Pea_.”

His eyes grew even darker, if at all possible, chest rumbling in satisfaction as he ducked his head in to plant his lips below her ear. Finding the edge of her shirt, he slid his palms beneath it and against her skin freely.

Betty sighed, tilting her head to the side and relishing in the way his lips ravished her neck and jaw in slow, lingering kisses that left her in a buzz. Her own hands found their way up the sides of his arms to twist and tangle in the back of his shirt, at the hairs brushing his neck.

“You know,” she hummed, pushing against him just a little, enough for him to lean back after nipping under her jaw. “I would be kidding myself if I said I hadn't thought about doing this for the last eight months.”

“Doing what?” he asked, eyebrows raising slightly as his lips turned up, waiting for her answer with barely concealed restraint.

“This,” she shook her head with a smile, grabbing on toon his shoulders to pull him back in then brushing his lips with her own.

The kiss was soft at first, then grew more insistent as his hand curved into the dip of her waist to pull her closer, hard against him.

Sweet Pea sighed into her mouth and she could feel the energy bubbling under his skin, against her lips, spilling out like a shaken soda can. He was all fingers and palms and lips and tongue, pulling her in, licking at the seam of her mouth and making her feel like the room was spinning beneath her eyelids.

She arched into his touch, hips lifting, seeking his. There was an irresistible heat at her ribs, neck, jaw, and the small of her back.

He shifted onto his forearm, increasing the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress with all the comfort that the action brought with it. Her thighs squeezed around his leg, undulating upwards as her hands wandered down the planes of his shoulders, scratching her nails in against soft cotton.

His teeth nipped at her lower lip, sucking, licking, soothing, until she was swollen from him. Until she was gasping his name again, into his mouth where the words escaped onto his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his shirt pulling, pulling, pulling closer, silently pleading for more. He leaned back just enough to reach up and grab his shirt collar, wrenching it off and sending it sinking to the floor.

He couldn’t get closer fast enough. He was hot under her hands, her palms spreading along his sides, fingers dipping into the space of his spine. Pressing flat against him, she ignored the indecent smirk curling the edges of his lips, and brought him back in to chase it away. She sighed, familiarity hot on her tongue as he stroked into her mouth, curling against the back of her front teeth.

His knee nudged further between her legs, with purpose, _intent_ , to her cunt. She could feel the warmth of her arousal seeping into the lace of her underwear as he applied the faintest bit of pressure. Enough to have her shuddering, tensing, aching for more.

There was a small part of her squeaking out that this was _too fast_ , that she was jumping ship too quickly, but her heart had already started to mend the moment she pulled the door open to find him on the other side. So she listened to the part that was screaming, begging for him everywhere all at once.

Betty didn't want to talk about what would happen after this, because anything would be better than before, as long as he meant what he said. And if Sweet Pea was anything, he was honest and good on his word.

A murmur vibrated against her lips, the rumble of her name deep in his throat, husky and low, dropping in her belly like molten heat had her nails scratching down his sides. Inching closer, her hips tilted up and up.

“Want you,” she moaned, wanting to fall deeper into him, into the way being with him made her forget everything else.

“Patience is a virtue,” he teased, lips seeking the hollow of her jaw, the space under her ear. “And you've been so good. Waiting for me,” his breath hit her ear, teeth grazing, “—for us.”

His hands burned against her skin, sliding under the sweatshirt and over the quiver of her belly. Fingers drummed up her ribs and knuckles brushed the swell of her breast, tentatively, before cupping the weight in his palm.

“Fucking hell,” he rasped, hot breath panting over her neck and ear, sending her squirming all over his thigh. “—you're killing me, not wearing anything under my shirt.”

“That was the point.” Tilting her head to the side, she smiled up at the ceiling, fingers hooking into the waist of Sweet Pea's boxers.

“I think we've been patient enough,” came his strained reply, thumb swiping over her nipple until it pebbled under his touch.

Pushing her chest into his hand, she nodded, lips parting in a quiet hum of agreement.

“Wanted you,” he rolled the nub between his fingers, “—like this, writhing under my hands from the moment I walked through the door.”

“I know.”

“Wanted you every day, every night,” Sweet Pea pulled her earlobe between his teeth and heat flooded down her spine like a tidal wave.

One hand raised to grip at his hair, tugging at him to pull him closer, his weight pressing her down into the bed. “You have me. So take me.”

He pulled back for a moment, to look down at her. His eyes were so dark, she could barely see the rim of rich brown at the edges, could practically see her reflection in their glassiness. He looked drunk on her, after only a little taste.

“Beg me.”

Her eyes rolled, knee lifting up until she could push a foot against his hip. With her hands at his shoulders, she raised her eyebrows a notch. “And when have you ever known me to beg?”

Sweet Pea grinned, unnervingly so. His fingers pinched her nipple, drawing her chest upward, following his fingers, as a huff fell from her lips, hating the way that it made her skin flush straight to her toes.

Then, all too soon, his hand was gone, resting demurely overtop of the sweatshirt against her stomach.

Brows knitting together, she pushed at his hip with her foot again. “Prick.”

He only took her foot in his hand, pushing her sole toward his crotch where she could feel the hard line of his cock through the thin material.

Betty wiggled her toes, pressing in just enough to pull a grunt from his throat. “I'm good at playing games.”

“We both know that,” he snorted, before pushing her knee up and away so he could sit back on his heels. His fingers caught in the band of her shorts, eyes flickering up to her. “But I'm just as impatient as you.”

With a nod of her head and a lift of her hips, he pulled her shorts and underwear down her thighs, in what felt like slow motion.

The drag of his knuckles down the sides of her legs as she lifted her feet from the bed sent a visible shudder over her body. He dropped both scraps of fabric over the edge of the bed, unable to look away from the way her legs fell open for him to settle between. Licking his lip, he leaned over to brace himself on his forearm above her. Fingers danced up the inside of her thigh, torturously slow, leaving fire in his wake.

Hooking a leg around his hip, she wound her arms around his neck, sucking in a breath from his parted lips. “Touch me.”

Sweet Pea brushed his thumb over the apex of her thigh and leg, dipping into the folds of her cunt.

“Fuck you're wet,” he slid his thumb through the slick of her, dragging it up over her clit. His hand twisted so he could dip his index and middle fingers into her folds, gliding up the length of her slit. “This all for me?”

She could only nod helplessly, fingers dragging him down against her to bury his head in her neck as she squirmed, hips rocking up towards his fingers. “Yes, yes. More, give me more, _please_.”

He made a noise against her neck, something between a growl and groan then twisted his hand so those two fingers sunk inside of her easily, so easily. They just barely brushed the sensitive spot inside of her before he slipped back out with a little twist so she could feel the width of them, his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, every inch of them before pushing back in again.  
  
Betty's back climbed, voice twisting out some sort of fractured _oh god_ — the muscles in her thighs tensing, twitching to close before falling wider, held apart by his body as he leaned in, fingers curling delightfully.  
  
All slick and steady, rubbing against those nerves inside of her, stretching deeper only to curl again; a rhythm she got lost in as he sucked and kissed and licked up her neck. She thought for a moment, hoping that tomorrow she would be splotchy purple, covered in the marks his teeth made against her skin. Inside her, there was a desperate and deep-seated need for evidence of his touch, something tangible to remember the feeling of his mouth on her neck, working down her collarbone, each time she looked in the mirror or so much as twisted her head.

Her chest heaved against the descent of his mouth, teeth and tongue working the thin skin between her breasts. He drug his fingers from her cunt, but she didn't have time to mourn the loss before he was slicking them up and over her clit and it was wet, so wet, and so good that she nearly bit her tongue.  
  
It was too much and not enough and so good even as the pressure between her hips continued to build, burning brighter and hotter, made her tremble because it was too much it really was and—  
  
“Come for me, baby,” Sweet Pea growled, fingers falling heavily back to her cunt, a third twisting in and making her cry out.  
  
_Jesus Christ_. Her thoughts were muddled and she couldn't even begin to trust her mouth to form anything more than gibberish. His fingers, hot and wide and wet, sounded slick inside of her every time he straightened them, pulling them back only to push them deeper, an incessant rhythm unable to surface above. Her own fingers scrambled, twisting into the mattress, one threading through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, falling away to grip his forearm like she could ground herself through him.  
  
She nearly wanted to tell him to stop — but every stretch of his fingers, every shift, every hot breath from his mouth on her chest, made her body burn; cheeks pink, mouth open, hair knotting beneath her head as she arched, tensed, felt his thumb rubbing her clit steadier, heavier, merciless  
  
Betty murmured some broken twist of his name, lilted with a desperate _please_. He pumped his fingers, thumb tapping her clit, curled them up in a way that caught her breath right in her throat. She came like that, mouth going dry, clenching around his fingers, cunt spasming as he rubbed slower, stretching his fingers inside of her as if he liked how it felt just as much as she did.  
  
It took her a few slow-blinking, full-bodied breaths before her mind gathered back from the frayed, burst apart edges of her orgasm.

He was staring down at her, fingers brushing a messy strand of hair behind her ear, hand grazing her belly still slick and sticky against her. She could feel the hardness of his cock against her hip, and realized that she wanted more. More of him, all of him.

She scrambled to pull the sweatshirt over her head, eager to pull his chest against hers, wanting to feel the tremors in his abdomen, the same as hers.

“Fuck me.” It came out desperate, breathless, a little too keening, but it got her point across.

Sweet Pea sought her lips, hungry, ravenous, like he couldn't get enough of her, never would. All the while shoving his boxers down his legs until he could kick them away, knees planting against the mattress as one palm slid hotly down her thigh to hitch her leg around his waist.

Her head swam, still dizzy and light, but aching between her legs so deeply that she could barely see straight.

“ _Please_.”

“That's my good girl,” he tutted, as if he was waiting for her, for the plea to fall from her lips.

She gasped as his cock nudged her cunt, sliding wetly through the slick and wet mess of her folds and gliding over her clit with measured thrusts. Her eyes fluttered up at the ceiling, hands tugging on the strands of dark hair beneath her fingers, grasping and pulling, hips moving with a frenzied rhythm that barely abated the throb that was nearly unbearable.

Just when she thought she might scream, though he'd like that _way_ too much, he held his cock steady, slipping through her folds and into the wet heat of her cunt.

It was everything good. Good, so good. Her mind blanked, lips quivering with a struggled breath as he bottomed out, pelvis pressed into the v of her hips. She clenched tight around him, unable to help herself, her other knee hooked around his hip to lock her ankles at his back. She didn't want him going anywhere beyond this bed, here, with her. All slick heat, velvet warmth, and fire boiling in her core, she felt ready to bubble up and spill over and over.

His forearms bracketed her biceps, fingers curling around the bareness of her shoulders, anchoring himself to her just as much as she was to him.

“Fuckfuck _fuck_ — Betty,” he grit out, so tightly she could hear the grind of his jaw in her ear, his panting breath against her skin. “You feel so good. Like you were made for me. Only me,” his growl was a possessive thing that made her lips curve into a smile.

Fleetingly, a quiet voice in the back of her head whispered, _condom_ , but she trusted him — trusted herself. She always took her pill on time, obsessively so. After all this time, she just wanted to enjoy the feeling of him within her, so intimate and _close_. There was nothing better  than him between her arms, like a weighted blanket keeping her tethered, grounded.

This dance — the shift of hips, ragged breaths, hands everywhere, gripping and pulling, teeth and nails biting into soft skin, bruising and painting, marking each other up, was familiar and so welcome that she never wanted it to stop.

His name left her lips, raspy and low like a beloved song, and his chest rumbled to the same tune, vibrating against the peaks of her nipples and lighting fire down her spine, back arching up for more. Tightening her legs around his hips, she met his steady thrusts, grinding up and relishing in the friction on her clit on each slide home.

She was close, so close, on the brink already. It was never going to take much, she mused, she had never felt anything like this burn on her own and was glad for it.

Licking a line up her neck, Sweet Pea bit at her throat as he worked an arm beneath her back, palm spreading between her shoulder blades to bring her closer, till their breaths were one in the same.

His fingers trailed along her spine, right where she knew his namesake lay, inked into her skin in watercolor purple-pink with patches of baby's breath to fill the sweet pea petals that swirled along the only place she couldn’t reach, couldn’t see, without a mirror.

She knew he'd seen the delicate petals last night, peeking out from the top edge of the slouchy sweatshirt as his breath fanned over them along with the brush of his thumb as he whispered goodnight.

Her mouth fell open as he tilted her hips, finding that place deep in her cunt that made her see stars, her very own night sky, exploding with vivid bursts of bright white beneath her eyelids as she clenched them shut, sucking in a shuddered gasp.

“Close, close, _close_ ,” Betty whimpered, nails scratching red lines down back.

A hiss of breath brushed her ear, accompanied by the jolt of his hips as he fucked her that much harder.

His other hand snuck between them, pressing hard against her hip and abdomen as he worked his fingers at her clit, slippery and wet from their joining. Every touch, thrust, culminated to create a path toward her undoing as she lost herself to the sensation, climbing higher, with him, to something indescribable.

“I love you,” she whispered, body tensing, quivering, on the brink of falling into pleasure, holding on desperately as she rocked into his hand and hips and the slide of his fingers and cock.

He trembled against her neck, arms shaking around her, and she knew he felt it, just as she did. Kissing the pulse in her throat, where it was beating, rushing in her ears thick and loud, he breathed out, “Me too, princess.”

It was infinitesimal; the space between them, the breath they shared, the differences that divided them. Their story wasn’t quite a fairytale, but it wasn’t far from one either. The angst, the wanting, the waiting — there were no happily ever afters in the real world, only the day-to-day struggles to hold onto and find happiness again. But it was worth it to try. And she wanted to try. Wanted it all. With Sweet Pea.

 _Whatever souls are made of_ , Betty thought as her hand twisted in his hair, his name on her tongue as she came apart at every seam, every fractured bleeding line beneath him.

 _His and mine are the same_.

  
  
  
_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for checking this out! big big thanks to [@theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta and friend. 
> 
> I have another sweetbee fic coming later this summer! ❤
> 
>  [my tumblr](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


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